First solo trip

Growing up in the Midwest almost requires that kids get a license early and start driving just for the sake of getting around. I was no exception, getting my "farm" drivers license the first Friday after my 14th birthday in January of 8th grade, and only waiting that long because they only did driving tests on Fridays. For the first few months my driving experience was limited to the back and forth the 5 miles into town for school and church, then over the summer my range expanded to back and forth to work, which was 23 miles each way. Most of that driving had been on a motorcycle as well, as I did and do generally prefer them over cars and the fuel mileage was a lot better on a 250 Yamaha 4-cyl street bike than it'll ever be in any car. I didn't really go more than 25 miles from home then until I had had my license for almost 8 months, when I went the 55 miles solo to Sioux Falls, SD to go school clothes shopping by myself.

Now to this point in my life my mother had always procured my school clothes for me, usually by trying things on at the local Sears or K-Mart and mail ordering from Sears, JC Penneys, and Wards. We didn't have a lot of money, so the wardrobe usually consisted of whatever from last year still fit and 5 new shirts, 3 new pants, and a couple new packs of scivvies and socks. Usually they were also the cheapest clothes available, much to my teenage embarrassment. Things were even worse because of the hand nature had dealt my physique, being at the end of middle school not quite 5' tall and over 180#. That working summer, though, walking 8-12 miles a day through corn fields all summer and simultaneously experiencing a major growth spurt, I was going back to school 4+" taller and 50+ pounds lighter, and looking good. The school clothes for this year needed to reflect that, and my Mother saw it as much as I did.

So, we struck a deal that would last the rest of High School. She would figure up her usual fall clothing order, and I had veto power over anything I chose. If I vetoed something she would give me half the item's value towards buying suitable replacements myself and order the rest. This meant that if I wanted name brand jeans or shoes I wouldn't be shouldering the cost burden entirely myself, and it freed Mom up a little $ to spend on my siblings instead. As I was working as well this was a great, and we agreed fair, plan.

So, that fall before my Freshman year of High School, I set off in my recently acquired Datsun 610 for Sioux Falls armed with a summer's worth of savings, a new check book, and some cash from Mom. (The Datsun had replaced my first car, the Opel Manta posted about before, because it had slot mag wheels, was a hard top, and didn't suffer from any rust issues.) It was the tail end of August, the car had no AC, and the torn shift boot was letting hot and exhausty air inside the car, but all was good in my world.

This was back when even on the Interstate speed limits were still 55. I was brave and foolish though, and pushed it up to just over 60 for the whole trip. I passed a couple cars, was passed by even more, and I waved as I could to every one of them. What more could a 14 year-old have ever wanted? The trip went by smoothly enough and soon I was getting off the 41st street exit in Sioux Falls, onto what I believe is the busiest road in the entire State, at the time 2 lanes each way with a suicide/turning lane in the center. The mall was right there, though, a quick right hand turn just off the Interstate, so I was soon in the relative safety of the parking lot.

The mall was walked, clothes were purchased, with only one snag from a merchant that wouldn't take a check with a #<250 from a 14 year-old. Seemed so unfair at the time, but looking back now I wonder why anyone took any of my checks. All was loaded in the car, and I was off to make a quick jaunt around town. Not knowing my way nearly as well around Sioux Falls then as I would come to know the city, I missed the turn lane onto Minnesota Dr. and ended-up continuing straight on 41st street. Even at 14, though, I was well trained at the fine art of vectoring, so I made a couple lefts to get back to where I had meant to go.

And then it happened.

I was cruising along, building up a good head of steam, and I boldly blew clean through an intersection without even noticing the traffic light. I blatently ran the red and didn't notice until I was well past the interection and saw it in the mirror. Luckily there had been no one at the intersection, including Johny Law, so it was a no-harm, no-foul situation, but it left me completely shaken and I had to pull over and let the tremors pass. I came very near to crying, even, because the thought running through my head was what if someone had done that to me while I was on a bike? I would have been kersplut.

After I had calmed down some, I high-tailed back to the Interstate and booked for home, 54 mph the whole way. It was weeks before I drove a car again, and years before I told anyone the story. The shame and terror of it still twinge me, and I've done much worse things on the road since. I often wonder, now, if anyone else looks at their close calls the same way? I see kids (and adults) doing stupid stuff daily, and I think I must have been in a very small minority then. Too bad for all of us, eh?